Sketches
by Aqua Lion
Summary: Charlie finds something that belongs to Banks. Pictures are worth a thousand words.
1. The Book

**Sketches**

_Yay! ...author's notes. Since nobody I talk to seems to know what study hall is, it basically translates to 'free period where people are supposed to do homework but usually just goof off and ignore when the teacher yells at them.' And, while this is not my first MD fic attempt, it was the first that was even halfway decent enough for me to admit I wrote it, so please don't flame me. Extreme Banksie-angst ahead. You have been warned..._   
_Disclaimer: Disney owns the Ducks, you know the drill._

_*****_

Charlie stalked out of study hall, highly annoyed. Varsity just didn't know when to quit, and sitting in the front of the room with Riley and Cole both close behind him always made for a very unpleasant class period. And beating them last Friday had not improved matters. Today they'd 'accidentally' spilled Coke on his finished math homework, then Adam had flatly refused to let him copy. Then again, Adam was acting very cold to him lately. He should've expected as much. 

He was so annoyed that he almost didn't notice the black notebook lying on one of the desks. Adam's desk. "Hey Banksie, you left—" No good, he was well out of earshot. "I'll give it to him tomorrow," Charlie decided, and shrugged. 

***** 

Adam was about ready to kill the two lead Varsity goons. Where did they get off, anyway? He'd managed to get into a fierce paper-wad-war with the two on Charlie's behalf which, while it did nothing for his maturity, he was pretty sure he'd won. 

It wasn't until he got to biology and dropped into his seat next to Kenny that he realized just how distracted he'd been. "I left my sketchbook!" 

"Ask if you can go get it," Kenny suggested. 

"Yeah, right. It's Wednesday, we've got a quiz, remember?" He sighed. There wasn't a study hall this period, he'd drop by the room after class and pray it was still there. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He should've known not to bring it with him. The last thing he needed was somebody reading that book. 

***** 

By the time he got back to his dorm that night, Charlie's curiosity had gotten the better of him. "This thing looks ancient. I bet he's had it since he was a Hawk. Can't hurt to have a peek..." It was a harmless impulse, after all, he'd probably just find a few years worth of English notes. 

The first page shot and buried that belief. It was an unlined notebook, more like a drawing book. And the front held a drawing of a hawk. A real hawk. Swooping down on something that wasn't shown in the picture. 

It was captioned. _"I did it! I made the team!"_

He hadn't been serious when he'd thought about the Hawks when wondering how old the book was. "He was a pretty good artist for a ten-year-old," he mused, unable to think of anything else to say. He wasn't quite sure he should turn the page, but... 

The next few pages held drawings of Hawk players. Many of them were captioned—McGill with the words _"Tries to make us think he's tough. Just a chickenhawk."_ Charlie laughed. Such wonderful Hawk loyalty... 

After that there were more pictures of the Hawks, mostly during games. By the captions, which were getting longer and more detailed, it was clear that this wasn't just a sketchbook—it was a diary. The thought made him uncomfortable, but also very curious. He flipped through a few more pages (one with Coach Reilly in army fatigues, _"Yes sir, drill sergeant, sir!"_) and suddenly... 

A hawk. A real hawk again this time, and a duck. A real duck. They looked like they were fighting, but there was no way to tell which was winning, if either of them. _"I found out today that I'm supposed to be playing for the Ducks. Dad and Coach Reilly are fighting it. Dad said I'd rather not play than be a Duck. Doesn't he think I can make up my own mind? Maybe I'd rather be a Hawk, but how bad can the Ducks be?"_

The next page told a different story. It was the first picture Adam had drawn of himself—he was wearing his Ducks jersey, and looking in what was apparently a mirror, at a figure in a Hawks jersey. The thing only vaguely resembled him, and was drawn very dark and shadowy. It made Charlie think of some sort of demon. _"First game with the Ducks today. It's not so bad being a Duck, except they all hate me. Big surprise. Never realized what a jerk I was..."_

Charlie paused a moment. That was interesting. 

He'd skipped a bit after that, apparently, because now there were pictures of the Ducks, similar to the pictures of the Hawks at the beginning of the book. Jesse was the first. _"Overdoes the team loyalty a little. Not sure I can blame him though."_

Now he was getting to what he wanted to see. He was on the next page, wearing his Duck jersey and smiling. None of the Hawks had been smiling—and Jesse certainly hadn't. _"I don't get this guy. He's too nice."_

"You've got to be kidding." Charlie was learning a lot he'd never even suspected. It was fascinating... yet he felt a pang of guilt. Some of this stuff was awfully personal. He really should stop looking, but... 

The page after the Duck players had Fulton, standing in front of a goal with a hole in the net. _"Forgot to mention we won the game."_

That was typical. A Hawk taking a win for granted, and certainly he was still more or less a Hawk at that time. There was a picture of McGill and Larson on the next page, looking very cruel. _"Coach took us to a North Stars game for a playoffs present. Saw Pete and Billy. They have decided I'm 100% Duck. Might as well oblige."_ There was a drawing of the semifinals game against the Cardinals (_"We have to play the Hawks now. I wonder how many seconds I'll last"_), and Charlie couldn't help wondering if Banks had been expecting that injury. 

He had. The next page showed a hawk swooping on a duck—real birds, except that they were wearing hockey jerseys. _"I was right, Reilly wanted me out. McGill did it. Of course. I just got out of the hospital yesterday. It doesn't hurt too badly anymore, but I'd like to get at him..." _Opposite that was a picture of Jesse, asleep in what looked like a hospital waiting room. _"He was there almost the entire time. I think he finally trusts me."_

Next was the most detailed picture yet. It was Adam, in his Ducks jersey again, skating. Drawn over that was a real duck in flight. _"How did I ever handle the Hawks?"_

"That's a good question," Charlie muttered to the phantom presence of the ten-year-old. "But you sure seemed to love it." 

There were few pictures from the off-season. Most of them involved Adam's father, in various degrees of fury. One had him in the picture as well, and he appeared to be yelling back. _"Dad still doesn't want me to be a Duck. He just doesn't get it."_

There were pictures of the new team USA players next. He didn't seem too fond of any of them. (Dwayne was labeled something that Charlie couldn't imagine Banks, of all people, ever saying.) Then there was a picture of Guy and Jesse, in what seemed to be the team dorms in LA. _"I don't get much drawing time here. Too many practices. Coach Bombay's starting to get pretty strict."_

After that, there was an obviously post-Iceland drawing. It was Adam, wearing his Hawks jersey (but carrying a Team USA bag) and looking annoyed. _"It's a good thing I don't have my old jersey or I'd start wearing it to practice. Almost slipped up and called Bombay Coach Reilly today. We lost a game! Big deal. Okay, so losing by 11 is pretty bad. It's still just a game. I've never lost a real game before, only a few scrimmages. It's actually kind of... interesting... and it's not the end of the world. We can afford to lose one. But I think there's something really wrong with my wrist. It hurts to write."_

The next two pictures showed Julie catching a puck, and Adam handing an American flag to Charlie. _"I haven't been able to draw. Sprained my wrist. But we won! We actually won the Junior Goodwill Games!"_

The next picture was of Russ. _"This is going to be interesting."_

Off-season pictures were again very few. There was a boy in one of them who Charlie assumed was his brother, but otherwise they were mostly his dad again. Saying the two didn't get along seemed the understatement of the century. 

Around then was when the thought hit him. There would certainly be pictures from his time with the Varsity... 

Absorbing as the reading was, Charlie had an overwhelming urge to see what those were like. He flipped through very quickly, and finally found the first. He noticed with interest that there were no individual sketches of Varsity players, as there had been for the Hawks and the Ducks. 

The drawing style had changed, and improved, since the pictures from the Games. This one showed the locker room, with the Varsity team standing in it. Everything looked to be covered in some sort of fog... _"Everything in the locker room was frozen when we got in from our game. Score one for the Ducks. Whom I guess I am not one of, anymore. They sure dropped me quick. Just like the Hawks did..."_

There were a couple more pictures of the Varsity vs. Duck war, with entries along similar lines, and another mirror picture. This was Adam in his Varsity jersey, and a ten-year-old in a Hawks jersey looking back at him. _"Today's been horrible. And it's not even 8 in the morning yet."_ Right around then Charlie knew what was coming next. He didn't want to turn the page. He didn't want to see what Banks had to say about that morning showdown. 

It was not quite what he'd expected, but close enough. This picture had been drawn in red colored pencil, and was a little shakier than the others, a little lighter. Charlie in his Duck jersey and Adam in his Varsity practice gear, facing each other, each looking ready to kill the other player. _"I didn't give up on you, Charlie. Why did you give up on me?"_ Charlie couldn't stand looking at the picture for another second, knowing what it meant. He glanced at the opposite page. 

It was the same color, just as uncertain, and made him feel no better. This one was of several ducks, and several people looking like the traditional warriors that symbolized Eden Hall. They were fighting. One of the ducks was different. Another duck was attacking it, and a warrior was trying to pull it away from the rest of the flock, though it seemed to be resisting. The symbolism was so perfect... and nothing could've prepared him for what was written under it. It was the longest entry Adam had made yet. 

_"What do they want from me? I'm being torn apart and I've got nobody to go to. I thought the Ducks would understand. But I'm just another enemy to them too. Why does it have to be this way! I can't take it much longer!" _The writing was getting messier now, more frantic._ "Somebody make it stop, just make it stop... please... somebody catch me, I'm falling too fast, and nobody cares... it's cold now. It's always cold, no matter what I do. And I'm still falling, faster, colder, it's like I'll be falling forever... and there's nothing I can do about it. Damn Coach Orion for sticking me on the wrong team. Damn Varsity for trying to make me take their side. Damn the Ducks for abandoning me. Damn me for being me, and not fighting it..."_

It wasn't just an interesting story anymore. Now it was a brutal account of exactly the sort of hell he'd been through. Turning the page didn't stop the words from echoing in Charlie's mind. He couldn't quite figure out what the next picture was supposed to be, but it was again red. And dark, very dark. Angry. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be anything. 

_"How could I have been so stupid? I'm not that desperate, am I? It took almost an hour to clean up all the blood. I'm in no shape to play now either. I'm too tired to even write much. Why did I even try? And when I did, why didn't I finish it?"_

Charlie slammed the book shut. "Banksie!" he yelped, unconsciously. He was sure he knew what that entry had meant, and he'd never wished he was wrong so strongly before, but... 

It was past. Far past. But it had never occurred to him to apologize to Adam after he'd rejoined the JV team. He had no idea why, and he could've kicked himself. He didn't, though, he had other things to do. More important things. He grabbed the notebook and tore out of his room. 

***** 

Adam couldn't believe it. The one day he'd taken his sketchbook to school, and he'd succeeded in losing it. It wasn't even so much losing it that bothered him—he could find something else to draw in. But if somebody read it... 

Especially somebody he knew... 

Someone was pounding on the door. He figured it would just be Kenny, who had the unfortunate habit of pissing the Varsity off every time he left the room, usually without even trying. Instead he found himself face to face with Charlie. Who was carrying— 

"You left this on your desk in study hall." He was panting. Had he been running? He looked shaken. 

Realization hit. "You read it." It wasn't an accusation. There was no point in that. Just a simple statement of the fact. 

"Yeah..." 

"How much?" 

"I skipped a little bit to get to the recent part. Then got up to the entry after the Fight." The Fight was what the Ducks called the first JV-Varsity match. No other name seemed appropriate. "Did you really try to—" 

"Yes," Adam replied shortly, self-consciously tracing the scar on his wrist. He was in no mood for suicide counseling. "Whatever you've got to say about that, save it. It was impulsive. And stupid. And I didn't really mean it. Before you decide I'm the innocent victim there's something you should see." Privately he felt like this was very stupid, but it wouldn't be fair not to tell the whole story. 

He flipped through, to just before the varsity-era pictures. It looked like a practice picture. Charlie was arguing with Coach Orion. "Did you see this one?" 

"No..." He accepted the book and looked at it, seeming not to notice how nervous Adam had become. 

_"I watched the Ducks practice today. I don't know what's gotten into Charlie, but it just keeps looking less like a hockey team and more like a dictatorship. It's almost enough to make me glad I'm not on the team. Almost."_

Charlie was frozen. "You're right," he muttered, quietly. 

Adam almost fainted, but thought better of it. "What?" 

"You're right. I acted like—" 

"Stop." He couldn't take this. The conversation had bothered him enough already. Charlie admitting he was wrong? "Don't tell me that, Charlie. Tell me how wrong I was. That I'm wrong and I'm horrible and I have no idea what I'm talking about. Go on." 

Charlie found his voice, barely. "Banksie?" 

"Come on, captain. You don't have to take that from a teammate. You're the leader..." 

He had no idea what he was doing. But if Captain Duck was going to present himself for punishment so willingly, so be it. He'd get his. 

"I'm sorry, Adam..." 

"I don't want to hear about it. Get out." 

"No." Adam had to admit he was impressed. Charlie hadn't lost his temper yet. "I'm not leaving. I was horrible to you before but I'm not giving up on you now. I don't want to make you go through this anymore." 

Adam stared at him for a long moment. And he nodded. "Sorry..." 

"I'm the one who needs to be sorry." 

"No, I—" 

"We're both sorry then." They both laughed, a little shyly. "So... can you forgive me?" 

"Let me work on that..." Adam watched him leave, then opened the book again. The picture he'd been working on in study hall was complete—just a picture of a normal practice. _"The way they act, it's like nothing ever happened. I'm not sure... is that a good thing? I don't want them to bring up anything that happened but my heart's just not in the game right now. I feel like someone tore me apart and put me back together all wrong, and all they have to say to me is keep chasing the puck... I've got the strangest feeling that something's going to happen today, though."_

"I was right," he mused. Smiling slightly, he turned the page, and wrote a quick entry at the bottom. _"Disaster averted. Left this book in study hall, Charlie found it. He read it... and he came to apologize. I might forgive him. I might even forgive myself. We're still Ducks. Maybe things haven't changed so much after all."_

He started to draw. 


	2. On the Roof

**Sketches-**chp 2 

_A/N- I really wasn't planning to write any more to this, so I didn't leave myself a jumping off point... but between the reviews (arigato to those who R&R'd!) and the alternative prospect of algebra homework, I decided I might as well at least give it a shot. *shrugs* This one's from Banksie's POV. I don't think I like third-person very much._   
_Disclaimer: Disney still owns the Ducks. Said Ducks have been returned unharmed._

***** 

It's a lot colder out than I expected. I should've worn a heavier coat. 

What am I saying? I should've worn a coat, period. But I can't be bothered to go back inside now. It's the first clear night we've had in over a month, and I'm not wasting it. I like to stargaze. 

Of course, if they catch me out here, I'm in trouble. It _is_ pretty well past curfew. Something like three hours past. 

That's okay, they're not going to find me. Overconfident? Maybe. But it isn't the first night I've been out here. They don't check to make sure nobody's on the roof. I guess they figure the rule against going out on the fire escapes is enough to keep people inside where they're supposed to be. 

Yeah, right. If rules worked the way they were supposed to... wait, I don't want to go there, or things end up with Coach Bombay not driving drunk, the Ducks not existing, the Hawks never winning because they couldn't cheat... and there I go again. 

I should know, by now, that when I'm alone I think too much. I turn my attention back to the stars and try to pick out Canis Major. Is it even visible this time of year? 

I said I _like_ to stargaze, I never said I know anything about it. 

Things with the Ducks have been going very well. It's a nice change. But there are times I really wish Charlie hadn't found my sketchbook. Sure, he's a lot nicer now, and the rest of the team is too. They follow his lead sometimes without even knowing it. And yet... he acts so strange around me. 

I know why. And it's exasperating. 

It was an impulse. I was lonely, I was frustrated, I was hurt, and I wasn't thinking straight. I would never really want to... kill myself... I'm not like that. Charlie should never have found out about it. Sure, a lot of what was in that book might have worried him, but I know what it was that made him treat me the way he does now. 

Friendly on the surface. But always careful. So careful... like he's afraid to upset me. Like I'll shatter if he makes a wrong move. 

I won't break so easily. 

Naturally, it's all been illustrated. Life without drawing is almost as impossible for me to imagine as life without hockey. I have my sketchbook with me right now, actually. I give up my search for Scorpio and start to work. 

I always write the entries first. It's best to get the hard part over with. 

_"I'm as normal as you are, Charlie. You've had those days when you just don't think you can handle it anymore, I know you have. Don't treat me differently. I did forgive you, Charlie, even if I never told you. But I was hoping you would be my friend again. Not my keeper. Stop trying to protect me. I don't need protection. Just trust me when I say that everything's all right now. That's all I ask."_

Now that I think about it, Charlie and I are more alike than I realized. He saw everything fall apart earlier this year, just as I did. Only from opposite sides of the field. Probably, he thought about giving up, just as I did. 

I wonder how he handled it? Did he also... 

_NO!_ I'm not even going to _begin_ to go there! Charlie has too much confidence for that. And he has too much going for him. Charlie wouldn't. 

He probably thought the same about me. But that's where we're so different. He's confident. I'm only determined. He decides he's going to do something and truly believes he'll do it. I decide to do something and keep insisting I will, but... I'll believe it when I see it. 

I envy Charlie. He probably doesn't realize it, but he has everything. Everything important. People like him. People _trust_ him. He's a good leader, and a good friend. And the Ducks would never turn on him... like they did to me. 

And I envy him for that. 

Weird, isn't it? I'm the rich kid of the team, I'm the one who's _supposed_ to have everything, aren't I? I guess... that's what I'm here for. There's got to be someone to rally around, that's Charlie. There's got to be someone that everything bad happens to, and that's me. 

It's not that I'm feeling sorry for myself, because I'm not. Or I'd like to think not. I never wanted to fit the rich-kid stereotype anyway. Maybe that's the problem, I've subconsciously turned myself into a misery magnet. But it's an accurate philosophy, isn't it? Expect the worst, and things will always be better than you expected. 

I've got to stop thinking like that. 

I know Aquila's got to be up there somewhere. I put down my sketchbook—half of my picture seems to have drawn itself—and start searching. 

The stars are so bright. So warm. And here it is so dark. So cold. And both places are more or less empty. 

The thought is pretty depressing, even for one of my philosophy kicks. Naturally, though, once I think it I can't get it out of my head. So I go back to drawing. 

I never really know what a picture will end up as until it's finished. It's really very strange. I can only draw well if I'm not trying to. 

This is shaping up to be another of those symbolic ones. Symbolism irks me. So why do I find myself drawing so much of it? 

I finish. Two Ducks. One is carefully edging around the other. From the shading, I think I meant for the other to be glass. It looks more or less indignant. 

Disgustingly symbolic. 

I've been so wrapped up in my thoughts and my drawing that I didn't even notice I have company. "When are you going to start telling me how you feel and stop making your art do the talking?" 

If I wasn't lying flat on my stomach I would've jumped ten feet in the air. Which would be bad, because I probably would've landed on Charlie, the way he's leaning over me. "What are you doing here?" I was trying not to sound too panicked, but... it didn't work. 

"Sorry I startled you... I couldn't sleep. I come up here sometimes when I'm not tired. What about you?" 

"Stargazing." He gives me a suspicious look. "Seriously. I just got a little sidetracked." 

"Clearly." He frowns. "You didn't answer my first question." 

First question? Oh, right. "I don't _intentionally_ make the art do the talking." 

"Even worse." He looks at me, sadly. "Don't say that everything's okay, because if it was okay you wouldn't have had to write that. Don't ask me to trust you unless you'll trust me." 

I consider that for a minute. Maybe he's right. I _have_ been a bit of a hypocrite... "All right. Not that it matters now, you already know what I have to say." 

Charlie nods. "I guess... I was just a little more shaken than I thought. I didn't even realize I was acting different." He sighs. "We've got a long way to go before we can be friends like we were before, you know." 

Don't say that, Charlie. I don't want to hear that. Even though I know you're right. Don't say it, it makes everything too real. 

"We can be friends again." I pick up the desperation in my voice. It wasn't supposed to be there. 

"We can..." He stares straight into my eyes, and I flinch. "You don't trust me." 

Of course I do, Charlie, don't be an idiot. I trust you... no. That's not right. Maybe I really don't. But it's not your fault. Do I trust anybody anymore? Or have I been betrayed one too many times? Is it too late? Is it ever too late? 

Am I crying? 

Yeah. I'm crying. I don't want to lose my only friend tonight. 

Except I already have. He said he hasn't been my friend. We haven't gotten that far. 

I can hardly bring myself to look at him. He's upset, very. "Adam." How about that, someone actually realizes I have a first name. "We've got a lot to work out." 

"Yeah." 

"Promise me something." 

"Yeah?" I wish I could say something more intelligent. 

"If I hurt your feelings again, would you let me know, instead of making me play guessing games until I catch you drawing?" 

I stare at him. Not too long ago, I would've had no problem answering yes to that. But what am I supposed to say now? "...Sure." 

"You're lying." Somehow, even though it was a _bad, thoroughly unconvincing _attempt at a lie, I'm a little annoyed that he caught it. "Will you at least try?" 

He means it. I realize it with a bit of a shock. He really means it. And... he's gone through a lot because of me, just as I've gone through a lot because of him. I owe him this much. I've forgiven him, now it's time to trust him again. 

"I'll try." 

"It's a start." He smiles at me. "Now come on. You're going to get sick if you stay up here much longer." 

He's probably right, so I grab my sketchbook and allow him to lead me back down the fire escape into the building. On the way in I take one last look at the sky, and I _finally_ see something. 

Cygnus. 

The Greeks saw it as a bird. The Romans saw it as a swan. The Arabs saw it as a hen... but me? I've got to say, from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like a duck. 


	3. Lightening Up

**Sketches**-chp 3 

_A/N- I told myself it would be over with chapter 2, then I got inspired. But this is _really_ the last chapter. *shrug* (We'll see how long that lasts.) Mostly Charlie's POV this time. A little lighter than the last two, I finally got some decent humor in-yay! The Ducks still belong to Disney. Pokémon, Dogma, and Air Force One belong to... erm... whoever owns them... which is not me._

***** 

Last week's little chat on the roof took a bit of a toll on me. I've done a lot of reflecting lately. 

I remember when Banks first came into the Duck locker room. Everything got so quiet. We all just looked at him, and he looked so uncomfortable... so nervous, so alone, so... afraid? I had never seen a Hawk so humbled. And it felt good. But then, for some unfathomable reason, my heart broke for this newcomer, this Hawk who was now a Duck. 

Without even thinking about what I was doing, I stood up to welcome him. 

I was glad Jesse stopped me, I really had no idea what came over me. 

It wasn't until I found his sketchbook that I realized how much of an impact my offhand action had. There were so few smiles in that book. Yet I was smiling. 

_"I don't get this guy. He's too nice..."_

I remember when McGill shoved him into the goalpost. It was unspoken among the Ducks, that he was our rallying point, after that. Defeating the Hawks, for this Hawk who was now a Duck. None of us were _really_ even friends with him yet. 

We did become friends. It was quite a learning experience. He was about as different from me as anyone could get. He was calm, I was short-tempered. He was reserved, I was outgoing. He never seemed to fit in, I had always fit in. 

Yet we were friends. We would hang out. He would coach me, help me improve my game. We stuck together. It seemed like going to Eden Hall could only strengthen that. Jesse, Banksie's best friend on the team, was going to spend a year in Colorado with his grandparents. There was only one other person for him to hang out with, and we were ready for a lot of fun. 

If only we'd known. 

But that's the past. Currently, our resident ex-enemy (twice over) is sitting alone at the edge of the soccer field, watching the team practice. I know for a fact that he has no interest in the game. But I guess there's not much for him to do but practice, homework, and watch other sports. After all, he's got no other close friends on the team, and I don't have a lot of free time anymore. I'm otherwise committed. 

Speaking of my other commitment, I've got a date with her tonight. She's been getting a little annoyed with me lately. Two days ago she finally got me to spill about Banksie—she immediately decided he needs a girlfriend. Girls! 

Linda and I made an agreement that we don't get together at all on days when we've got plans for the evening, so we can hang out with our other friends. Well, now's a perfect example of why that agreement's such a good idea. 

I march up to Banks and grin at him. "Enjoying yourself?" 

He looks up at me for a moment. "Of course I am. Don't I look like it?" 

"No." 

He laughs. "Okay, you win. Why aren't you off with Linda, huh?" 

"We've got plans. Later." 

He shrugs at this, and turns his attention back to the soccer team. I think they're scrimmaging, though I wouldn't know a soccer game if it slapped me across the face. "Who's winning?" 

"How should I know? You've been distracting me." 

"Who was winning before I came over here?" 

He shrugs again. "The team in the red and white jerseys." 

Both teams are in red and white jerseys. 

That clinches it, he's not near as absorbed in the practice as he's pretending to be. I grab him by the wrist and yank him into a standing position. "You know what, Banksie? We are going to go rent a movie, make some popcorn, chase my roommate out, and have a serious re-bonding session." He starts to protest. "And if you complain about it, the movie's gonna be Pokémon." 

"I'll come, I'll come!" he yelps. Good—I didn't want to watch Pokémon either. 

***** 

He obediently followed me to the movie store. Just to see what he'd do, I headed straight for the Pokémon stuff anyway—he unceremoniously dragged me to the action/adventure section. After half an hour of combing almost every inch of the store we finally wound up with Air Force One, which neither of us had seen before, and Dogma, which the whole team gets together and watches about every two weeks. 

And now, with Guy elsewhere, and fully equipped with popcorn, soda, TV, and five hours of free time, we are sprawled on the floor of my dorm room. 

Halfway through Dogma, though, I notice that he doesn't seem to be enjoying the movie as much as usual. "Banksie, what's up? You okay?" 

He hesitates. "Fine." 

Yeah, right. 

"Didn't we just go over this trust issue last week?" 

"Yeah, but..." He nods to the movie. "Otherwise occupied." 

"No, that's no excuse. I said this is a re-_bonding_ session. You don't have movies at bonding sessions to _watch_ them!" He laughs, but sobers up pretty quickly. "C'mon. I'm only trying to help..." 

I know he doesn't mean to, but Banks has this great way of making me feel totally useless whenever I try to talk to him. At least, about serious things. 

For a minute, I think he's ignoring me. I almost miss it when he finally replies. "I was just thinking," he mutters. "If _you_ had been assigned to Varsity, nobody would've acted any different towards you." 

I read his tone easily, but it takes a moment to totally sink in. Is that _jealousy_ in his voice? But he's not done. "Or if it'd been any of the others, for that matter. Hawk or no Hawk, when will you guys stop thinking I'm going to stab you in the back the first chance I get?" 

Whoa. Didn't expect that. I'm not sure what I _was_ expecting, but it would have been something about Varsity. Not the Hawks. "Most of us don't even _remember_ you were a Hawk." I feel a little bad about that, it's not entirely true. After all, I was just thinking about him being a Hawk a couple hours ago. But to all intents and purposes... at the very least, none of us hold it against him. "You still worry about _that_?" 

He stares at me for what seems like an eternity. "What do you think?" I can see he's trying to hold back tears. He won't cry in front of me again. "You think I just forgot all about the first ten years of my life when I became a Duck? You think I stopped thinking about what I used to be like? You think it's easy to be forgiven?" He looks away, and I know he's lost his struggle. 

My heart breaks all over again. 

I have no idea what to do about this. "Banksie, I—" 

"Don't." He shakes his head. "I can't handle this again. Just... don't." He stands up and tries to leave. 

I get up as well, to block his path. I can understand him not wanting to deal with this right now, but he can't keep running away. Maybe our last talk didn't settle things as well as I thought. 

"Move." 

I'm not going to move, and he knows it. He can't _make_ me move, and he knows that too. He's slightly taller than I am, but he's also skinny and—for a hockey player—very nonviolent. At least off the ice. 

"I'm not moving." We have a brief but intense staring match, which he wins. I can't begin to describe what I saw in his eyes. But that doesn't mean I'm getting out of his way. 

"I thought not." He sighs, backs off, and sits on my bed. "All right. What do you want?" 

What do I want? What kind of question is that? I want to know what's wrong with him, why he can't just lighten up and see the good in himself for once. "I want you to lay off yourself for a bit and have some fun." 

"Fun? Isn't that what practices are for? And games? I have plenty of fun." 

_Why_ didn't I expect him to say that? Everybody knows he's got no room in his life for anything but hockey. One track mind, I guess, beatings, when he's not beating himself up he's playing a sport where you beat everyone else up. "There's more to life than hockey." 

"Not to my life." 

"If there wasn't you wouldn't have been here watching movies with me, now would you have?" 

He pauses, calms down, considers that for a minute, and shoots me a mock-indignant look. "You threatened me with Pokémon! That's blackmail and you can't use my decision against me! That's got to violate some amendment..." He grabs my American Government book, lying sadly neglected on my desk, and starts flipping through it. Having sufficiently distracted me, he does something totally unexpected. He flings a pillow at me. 

He's rather off the mark, seeing as he's splitting his attention between me and the book. But if it's a pillow fight he wants... I catch the projectile and clobber him over the head with it. He vaults behind Guy's bed, still holding my textbook. "I'm warning you! I've got a 900-page book and I know how to use it!" 

"That's low." 

"Yep." 

I lunge at him right as he says that, catching him off guard. Within seconds we're on the floor, weapons aside, playfully trying to kill each other. He's succeeded in making me forget about our conversation—we'll have to finish it later. But for now I can't bring myself to spoil the moment. He's actually _laughing_. 

It's been forever since I heard him laugh. 

I pin him to the floor, and he grabs a discarded pillow and shoves it at me. When he tries to get up I grab him by the leg and he ends up flat on his face. He turns and smacks me with another pillow, and suddenly he freezes. 

I heard it too. The sound of a door opening. 

Guy walks in casually, not noticing us at first. "Hey! You guys... having... fun...?" 

"Of course. Don't we look like it?" Adam tosses a third pillow at him. 

Guy is not one to mess with when it comes to pillow fights. He jumps into the fray without a second thought, and before I know it, we have achieved total chaos. 

For a minute, things seem back to normal. 

***** 

_Adam's POV_

I'm going to have a hell of a shiner by tomorrow. Someday, Guy's going to learn to hold the pillow so he _won't_ be punching people out. But I don't mind. Ducks wear their wounds proudly, even when they've got nothing to do with anything done on the ice. Besides, it was still fun. It was worth it. 

Another day, another drawing. 

It's kind of an odd one this time. Just a lot of feathers. Duck feathers. And Ducks bashing each other with pillows. Go figure. 

The entry is far removed from most of what I've written this year. A little lighter, a little more cheerful. No, make that a lot more cheerful. 

_"Guy in a pillow fight's a scary thing. Just wait'll the next time we end up on opposite scrimmage teams, he'll get his... Things are going okay with Charlie. We've got a long way to go still, but we should get everything sorted out—probably by summer break, when it won't matter for another three months, but that's okay! Even I can tell we've made progress. For now, I'll settle for that."_

I put the book away. 


End file.
